Vir Assan
by Addai
Summary: A young Dalish girl must use her unusual abilities to protect those she loves, and one day to help save the world. 1st story in Idun's cycle.


Idun's mouth and fingers were full purple with juice by the time she realized that she had incriminated herself. She was trying to wipe her fingers on leaves when she heard Myrsa calling for her. Jumping guiltily, she turned around as her foster aunt stepped through the trees. Laughing, Myrsa said, "Did any of those berries make it into your pot instead of in your mouth and on your dress?" Idun looked down and saw that there were purple dribbles down her front and not only on her hands. Myrsa gave her a little shove and said, "Never mind. Come, da'len, there is rain upstream and the river is swelling by the minute. We need to cross and get back to camp before it chokes. Call your wolf and let's go."

Idun stood up and gave a low whistle. Presently a yearling wolf slipped through the trees and heeled to Idun. The wolfling's grey maw was red with blood. "You've had a snack, too, I see," she aid as the wolf licked its chops. Idun kneeled down and stroked the creature's neck. "You could have brought back some for the clan, Mist. But maybe it was only a small woodrat?" The wolf cub shifted on her haunches, admitting nothing.

By the time they found the others and got back to the river's edge, the river was indeed much higher than it had been just a few hours before. Muddy, swirling and angry, it would permit no safe crossing at that point. Black clouds filled the sky upstream and there was a clammy smell in the air. The rains that filled the river would soon be on top of them. Idun found herself more excited than scared at the prospect of being caught in a terrific storm. The slight dark-haired girl would see her twelfth year that midsummer. It took a deal of effort to keep up with her clan-mate Tamlen's mischief quota, but she usually managed. Idun's foster mother Ashalle had threatened that in gaining her twelfth year, Idun would have to take her studies more seriously. Others started their apprenticeships at fourteen, but the orphan daughter of the former keeper had the ancient gifts, and in measure rarely seen. With those gifts came a responsibility. Service to the clan came before all else. While she was still allowed some freedom, then, Idun hoped to make the most of her twelfth spring. She had jumped at the opportunity to go out with the healers to look for herbs and bark for their preparations.

The adults in her gathering party were not as charmed with their situation. While they discussed what to do, whether to head downstream for a calmer ford or throw ropes to cross here, Mist abruptly lifted her head and gave a low "woof." The leader of the party, the hunter Eareth, raised a hand to halt the conversation. They all listened. Idun could hear nothing but the wind rising in the trees, but she knew the routine. When the hunter pointed downstream and motioned for the all-quiet, everyone moved quickly and without question. The Dalish knew how to hide, and they knew how to run.

Before long, even Idun heard what had caused the alarm. Humans. It had to be them. These ones were quiet as the shem went, so probably one of the bandit groups which used the Brecilian Forest as a lair. However, they were not quiet enough. Idun could hear the breaking of branches and occasionally the clank of metal. It soon became apparent why they were making so much noise. They were in pursuit. The Dalish likewise picked up pace, sticking close to the riverbank. As she ran, Idun saw flashes of white nearby, her wolf darting in between the trees. She was sorry she had wished for an adventure, wanting only to be back at the fire with Tamlen teasing her about being afraid of a few shem.

When Idun heard Mist began to growl, she knew that they were losing their race. Eareth knew it, too, and he shouted for them to turn towards the river, the need for silence now being overtaken by urgency. Their only chance was to get across the river and hope that it slowed their pursuers long enough for them to reach the camp's watch fences. Some of the elves broke from the trees onto a sandy, open spot of the riverbank, while others turned to cover their retreat. Eareth stopped at the river's edge and waited, motioning for the others to cross. He drew his bow and held it taut, watching the forest behind them for any sign of a target.

Idun had fallen behind, turning her ankle once when she stepped on an exposed tree root. Mist nipped at her legs, trying to urge her to speed. Three women were in the river, several more running for it, and Idun had just broken through the trees, when an arrow sailed out from upriver and caught Eareth in the neck. The hunter gasped and turned, clutching at the arrow, but when he tried to speak, bright blood gurgled from his mouth. Eareth tried to wave away those who stopped to help him, gesturing to the river. He sank to his knees, trying to bring his own bow up to return fire, but his eyes rolled back and the bow faltered. More arrows rained out, catching the swimmers in the back, the shoulder. The current was also doing its work, fighting them. Idun sank to her knees, covering her head with her arms and shaking with fear. She couldn't run anymore. Arrows were flying everywhere and she did not even know which came from the Dalish and which from the bandits. There were the sounds of skirmish as bandits met the defenders at the forest edge. Shouts and curses rang out, both human and elven, and the cloying, coppery scent of blood joined the smell of rain in the air.

Myrsa had reached the river's edge, but turned back when she realized Idun was not following. Running back to her, she tried to pull the child to her feet. "We must run, da'len, there is no time," she urged frantically. Idun stood as she was bid, but it was too late. Men and women with shaggy hair, mismatched plate armor and notched axes and swords had appeared from the trees both upstream and downstream from them. They closed slowly now, having cut down the elves' small rear guard. Some of the bandits were laughing, others whooping. One of the humans called in the guttural-sounding king's tongue, "Get thems as are swimming. Kill the men and any women too wounded to move."

Idun felt like she was in the middle of a dream. As though from a distance she could hear the splashing of the bandits as they went into the river after the other elves, the sounds of struggle and dying. There were shouts as even some of the bandits found themselves losing against the current, their armor weighting them down. Eareth was making a horrible gurgling noise, lying face-down in the sand of the riverbank. Mist growled, head lowered in attack stance. One of the humans gestured towards the wolfling and said, "Someone shoot that wolf pup before it does something I'll regret."

It's a dream. Just a dream. Idun put out a hand as though just by doing so she could command the man not to fire his arrow. Sometimes in dreams you could take control. She knew how to "wake up" when she was beyond the veil. She could command the spirits so that they would leave her alone and stop their whispering. It didn't work this time, though. The man drew, and as Mist lunged forward to attack, his arrow caught the wolfling in her chest. With a yelp, she went down. The wolf struggled to get back up, but another arrow followed and she went silent. Just a dream. It was a dream. _I'll heal you, Mist. I can heal you, the keeper showed me how._ But Myrsa was clinging to her arms, and Idun was not sure that her feet would move even if she were free. It felt like she was sinking into the river mud.

There were shem bandits all around them now, drawing in, close enough that Idun could smell their stink. There were still sounds of struggle, but the Dalish were outnumbered. Idun turned to look. Two of the others, a man and a young woman not much older than herself, had reached the far shore, but they had been cut down with arrows. The others were all dead or being herded back to shore. She turned back, aware that the bandit leader was saying something to her and Myrsa. Rain began to fall, splattering on the bandits' armor and on Myrsa's face as she knelt down to take Idun's shoulders.

Gazing into the little girl's eyes, Myrsa whispered, "Use your gift, Idun. I know you can do it. The keeper said you knew how even before she taught you. You can get away. Do it."

Even in her daze, Idun grasped immediately what Myrsa was telling her to do. Shaking her head, she croaked out, "I can't. I'll stay with you."

Myrsa shook her head, glancing up to see how close the humans were. They were taking their time now, confident they had gained the upper hand and all that remained was to mop up. Turning back to Idun, the woman whispered sternly, "You must. Someone has to warn the clan. It has to be you. You can do this, da'len. Remember the Vir Assan." The way of the arrow. It was one of the three precepts of the Dalish, impressed upon children from their swaddling days.

Idun whispered it back to her. "Vir Assan, the way of the arrow: Fly straight and do not waver."

Myrsa smiled and nodded, saying, "Do not waver. And do not worry about me. I am not afraid to die. When the clan lives, we each live. Go, with the creators' speed. Hurry, da'len."

Idun turned her eyes towards the bandit leader who was leering at her as he approached. "You'll fetch a pretty price," he said with a gapped smile, the rain splatting on his helmet. "If I decide not to keep you for m'self, that is. Oh yes, people still pay for little elven whores, yes they do, 'specially them as faces aren't marked up yet. On the quiet, like, but coin is coin." He reached out the tip of his spear, intending to fluff Idun's hair with it. The girl's head was not there anymore, however. She had dropped to her hands and knees in the river mud. The bandit leader wavered, surprised. Before he had a notion of what was happening, Idun's form shuddered, and in the next instant there was a wolf where the elven girl had been. It looked much like the young wolfling they had killed, but the eyes flashed green before they turned into the yellow of a forest creature. Before the bandits could collect themselves from the surprise, Idun darted past the bandit leader's legs and into the trees. She did not look back.

"You are called to submit yourself to the taint, for the greater good."

The grave, dark-haired shem intoned these words at her as he had, only a few minutes before, to the two dead men who lay at their feet. In the distance Idun heard the muted din of armies camped. Her side and right arm ached from wounds she had received earlier that day while collecting the vile substance the shem now held out for her to drink. She had applied poultices and tried to spell herself, but the taint sickness in her had weakened her body's defenses. It burned in her more every day. The end was near for her one way or another. The shem, Duncan, had promised that this Joining ritual would make her immune to the sickness, but Idun did not know if he could be trusted or if he even knew what he was talking about. He had been perplexed that the keeper had been able to keep her alive at all, and still more perplexed as Idun had applied her own healing gifts to keep herself on her feet during the long journey to the king's camp.

_Tamlen, my love, are you with the creators? Will I see you now? _The childhood friend who was to become her mate had been taken by the same creatures who had given her this sickness, the twisted things humans called darkspawn. It was these creatures she was now called upon to fight, though it had meant leaving her clan behind forever and journeying far away to join the shemlen king's armies. On the journey south, Idun had prayed constantly to her patroness Sylaise that Tamlen was at peace and not in torment. There had been no body to bury, however, and the uncertainty ate at her. There were worse things than death, Idun knew. Her foster aunt Myrsa had been found in the bandit camp a week after she was taken. It had taken that long for the hunters, going on Idun's report, to catch up with them and slaughter every last one. Myrsa smiled when she saw Idun, but it was a weak smile, the woman's eyes already dead. The rest of her body had soon followed.

Idun looked up and met Duncan's gaze as he held the cup out to her. The Warden leader's eyes were grave, his expression inscrutable. He had cut down Jory, the recruit who tried to back out of the ritual and drew his weapon. Apparently he cared little whether she would actually live or die this night, despite his occasional flashes of kindness. Idun was aware also of the other Grey Warden's eyes on her. He was called Alistair, a young man whose mouth seemed to get ahead of his wits, but who had probably saved her life in the Wilds. His enthusiasm for the Wardens was irritating and his attempts at humor sometimes baffling, but at least his veins did not seem to be filled with ice as Duncan's were. Not yet, anyway. There had been three recruits total, and two of these now lay dead. How great were the odds that these Wardens laid on her? Idun glanced at Alistair and saw that he looked quite apprehensive, even sorrowful. Not too good then.

Grasping the cup from Duncan's hands, Idun put the rim to her lips and closed her eyes. The clan had fled north. She had agreed to go with Duncan in part to keep her sickness from spreading to the others, in part because he said they needed warriors to fight the darkspawn. It was a dim chance that she- one Dalish woman who was not even a proper warrior- could make any difference, but if it meant the survival of her clan, Idun had to try. She was the clan's arrow, flying out from them to strike at the heart of the Blight. Perhaps if what had always been said of her was true, that she was special and marked out for a fate not like that of the keeper's other apprentice, then the gods might permit this arrow to find its mark. It was up to her, however, to see that it did not waver. _When the clan lives, we each live._

Idun tipped her head back, and drank.


End file.
